Two Lanes
by Sanqhian
Summary: Driving back from a failed case the night gets even worse for Neal and Peter.
1. Chapter 1

**Author Note: **_This story is about 2 years old, but for some reason I never posted it. Enjoy._

* * *

Peter drove the car along the darkened road thinking back over the events of the day. Things had not exactly gone the way he planned, or the way he had hoped. He was counting on a certain someone to help him make a big collar, one that would bring to end a year long search for a human trafficker. But unfortunately, things went wrong and he was left in a bad mood. In fact, if he really wanted to admit it, even to himself, he was out right fuming. Pissed. And in a way the whole thing was his fault. He should have known better than to rely on Neal for this one. The man was a con artist, not a highly trained Federal Agent capable of dealing with any and all sorts of situations. Yeah, Neal actually did a great job for them on many cases, always managed to make things go a little easier in the long run.

But there had been those times when Neal screwed up. Little moments that led them to those few occasions when they had to improvise, think quick on their feet, the sort of thing Neal was great at doing. And yet, today he fell short, failed to catch the guy they had gone in search of. Deep down he knew that he should not be entirely mad about the incident. Perhaps on some level he was starting to rely way too much on the former criminal. For some stupid reason he kept trying to convince himself that Neal was actually on the up and up, working off his past crimes to a better future. However, there were small moments where he was left wondering if perhaps he had made the right choice in creating this situation with Neal. He hated to think of the times when Neal went around behind his back, did little jobs to further his own agenda.

Especially when it came to Kate and discovering who had her killed, though a portion of that had been figured out.

Still, he kept relying on Neal. Maybe he needed to get back to the basics, do a few of these jobs without Neal's input, prove to himself that he was still capable of doing his job, of making the right choices and calls. He glanced out of the corner of his eye to see how Neal was dealing with things and was a bit put out to see the former crook sleeping, his head resting back against the seat, eyes closed. On some level he suspected Neal was faking it in order to avoid having any sort of discussion. Probably a good thing because if he started talking now things were bound to get heated. Their target, the man they were supposed to be transporting to jail at this point, had slipped away in a moment of craziness, disappearing into a crowd and actually managing to out maneuver Neal. Peter thought of saying something, was going to make one remark, then decided it might be better to leave it for the time being.

Neal probably felt like shit to begin with, why make it worse?

He could give him hell tomorrow. Then again, the boss would be right there waiting to give Neal an earful so maybe he would just hold back. For a little while. This whole thing had been his idea in the first place. He wanted Neal to know he was disappointed, expected better of him, _knew_ Neal was capable of performing better than he had earlier in the day.

"Care to explain what happened?" he finally asked, breaking the slightly uncomfortable silence that had settled over the car.

"I was wondering how long it would take you," Neal responded, not moving.

"Yeah, well, there is going to be a lot of explaining. The minute that guy got away the shit hit the fan," he said as he navigated a turn. Why the hell had he let his boss convince him to take this particular case? He wished he had known before hand that he would end up far from the city and out in the middle of nowhere in portions of the state he had never seen before. He wanted to get back to the comfort of home.

"What do you want me to say, Peter?" Neal finally looked at him. "He got the best of me. There were a lot more people there than I thought. I am aware that I screwed this up. But we can get him. Let me talk with Mozzie-"

"So now you want to drag him into this? What makes you think we'll be able to continue working the case?" Peter said, quickly glancing at him. "I wouldn't be surprised to find us pulled off the case. This was a long shot, Neal, one I convinced the boss to run with. Now we have not only wasted resources and time, but the scumbag knows that he's being tracked. Do you expect him to lead us right to the girls? Hell no. We'll be lucky if bodies do not start turning up."

"I'm sorry, Peter. How many more times do you want me to say it?"

"Sorry is not going to put this case back together," snapped Peter realizing he should rein in his temper before he let it get the best of him. He tried thinking about home, about finding Elizabeth there waiting for him. A hug and kiss from her, an overly friendly greeting from Satchmo. His world would feel a bit better, a little more right side up. Not that anything at this point would take away the sting of the lashing his boss was going to give him when they returned to the office. He was hoping to at least put that off for a few more hours. All he wanted to do right now was drop off Neal and get home.

"You can always just leave me on the side of the road if that will make you feel any better," Neal suddenly said.

Peter looked at him. "Are you fucking serious? The amount of trouble you might get into. Forget it. I'll take you home, but I want you at the office bright and early tomorrow. I am not taking the heat for this, Neal, not all of it anyway."

"We can still catch him, Peter."

"Forget it. He's probably half way to Mexico by now."

"We can fix this, Peter. I know it."

"We wouldn't have to fix it if you kept your head in the game," grumbled Peter as he went around another blind turn.

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"You know damn well," Peter glared in his direction, his grip on the steering wheel tightening a bit. "Ever since Kate died-"

This time it was Neal who got mad. "Leave her out of this, she has nothing to do with what happened."

"Bullshit," Peter was on the verge of yelling. "You know very well that you have not been on the top of your game since she died. And now, even though you know she rigged the plane to explode, you continue to hunt for more answers. Will finding them actually be helpful, Neal? The more you hang onto this the more obsessed you are going to get. I have seen it happen to agents and particular cases. It destroys their careers, wholly consumes them, and I don't want that for you, Neal."

"Peter-"

He took his eyes off the road as he continued talking, really wanting to get his point across. "Neal, listen to me, you have the ability to completely transform your life, to make things better for yourself and those around you. Stop getting hung up in the past where you can't fix anything. What happened, yeah, it was sad and I get the pain you're dealing with it, but throwing away your life the way you are, it isn't going to help."

"Peter-"

"I can guarantee you that it is not the sort of thing that Kate would want from you," he pushed on, knowing that what he said was true. "You-"

"Peter, watch out!" Neal yelled, his hand reaching out to the dashboard.

Peter turned his attention back to the road. So occupied with finally speaking his mind to Neal he had not been aware of the drunk driver weaving back and forth over the stretch of road. He hit the horn hoping it would help to get the attention of the other drive so that he could get control over his SUV, but no matter how much Peter pressed the noise did not seem to penetrate the other person's fog. He tried to avoid the accident he saw coming, tried to slow the speed of his own vehicle. There was no keeping the two cars from hitting, though, the whole thing happening in the span of seconds. He swerved, pointing the car toward the side of the road. The SUV clipped them, hitting the side of their car. Despite the best of his efforts the car went over the embankment at a rather high rate of speed. In that flash of time he thought of Elizabeth, how much he loved her.

He heard the sound of shattering glass, the crunch of metal as the car connected with one of the trees lining the side of the road. He may have hit his head on the steering wheel before the airbag was deployed. He could not fully remember because everything went black.

A few minutes later he came to, his body aching in the worst possible way. He was slumped forward over the steering wheel, the airbag deflated underneath him. There was a tear along the side from what he could only guess was a piece of glass. Groaning, he moved, sitting up, bringing a hand to his head. There was blood, still warm and wet, near a cut along his forehead. He probed it to check the severity, wincing in pain. Then he began to access his other injuries. A lot of sore muscles, minor cuts and bruises. Nothing that seemed overly life threatening.

Peter turned to have a word with Neal, only to find the passenger seat empty. He frowned, then thought better of it as he felt the blazing pain race through his skull.

"Neal?" he called, trying to figure out what happened to his friend. The passenger door was open so at least he knew Neal had not been thrown from the vehicle. A bit of blood coated one eye making it that much harder for him to make out details. He wiped it away, finally noticing a branch that pierced the windshield on Neal's side of the car. He thought there might be a bit of blood on the tip, hard to tell in the gloom. "Neal?"

Was that a groan he heard from outside the car? Peter fought with his seatbelt. "Hold on, Neal." After what seemed like forever he finally got the safety device undone, tried to open the door only to find it would not cooperate. He threw himself into it, crunching more glass in the process. On the third try it gave sending him tumbling out of the car. His shoulder hit the ground, the impact shaking him to his core, his already sore body protesting at the added trauma.

Peter lay there for a few minutes while he got a grip on the pain. Somehow he managed to climb to his feet using the car for support. As soon as he was on his feet the world began to spin. He screwed his eyes shut before the motion made him pass out. Counting to five he opened his eyes to find the world a bit steadier. With a hand on the car he moved around back end of the shattered and crumbled vehicle.

Neal sat against the car holding his left arm against his right arm where blood oozed from between his fingers. With a slight smile Peter sank down on the ground beside him, fighting off the urge to actually laugh. Somewhere behind them was another FBI car with Jones and Cruz. Everything would be fine as soon as those two swung 'round. Peter looked down the road to see if he could spot the headlights and noticed that the other car, the one that caused the accident, was nowhere in sight. Typical.

"How are you?" Neal asked.

"Not too bad, how about yourself? I saw the branch…"

Neal smiled fleetingly, his eyes twinkling a bit. "Yeah, saw it coming and tried to dodge, failed."

"Doesn't look like it did too much damage," Peter pointed out as he examined Neal for a second time.

"Cut in my arm, bit of pain in my chest," Neal told him, basically shrugging it off.

Peter grunted, then began to fish around his person to locate his cell phone. He thought it might be a good idea to call Jones or Cruz and let them know to keep an eye out for their car. For all he knew it wasn't going to be highly visible in the darkness. He managed to locate the cellphone in his inner jacket pocket, happy that it had not been tossed during the accident, and even more pleased to find it in working order. With the push of a button he heard ringing.

When Jones picked up Peter explained to him what happened, telling him to call it in. Jones expressed his concerns.

"Peter," Neal's voice broke their conversation.

Peter looked at Neal, having heard something in his voice, and instantly did not like what he saw. Neal did not look nearly as good as he had a few minutes ago. The color had drained from his face, his breathing had grown labored. He just about dropped the phone when he noticed how shallow Neal's breathes were, his chest barely rising and falling. And was that a tinge of blue around his lips?

"Neal-"

"My…chest…hurts," it sounded painful for Neal to get the words out.

Peter realized that Jones was yelling in his ear, apparently aware of something being wrong. Without realizing it Peter found himself recounting Neal's condition as it looked like his friend's health was quickly getting worse. Jones told him to put his phone on speaker and rest it on the ground, he had a fairly good idea of what might be wrong. Peter did as instructed.

_"Lay him on his back,"_ instructed Jones. _"You need to open his shirt and feel around his ribcage-"_

"What the hell am I doing, Jones?"

_"It sounds like he's suffering from a tension pneumothorax. A collapsed lung,"_ he clarified. _"He has air building up in his chest and you need to let it out before it causes cardiac arrest."_

Following the instructions given to him over the phone he felt along Neal's ribcage, finding what felt like a broken rib. When he touched it Neal winced in visible pain. Probably the cause of the collapsed lung. Jones told him that he needed some sort of tube, something to stick in between the ribs to help the building air escape. Promising Neal he would be right back Peter went back around to the other side of the car. He began to scramble around looking for the pen he always kept in the cup holder. It had rolled under the break pedal. He worked at getting it apart as he walked back around to Neal. He fell to his knees.

Jones told him to make a cut in Neal's chest making sure to get it between two of the lower ribs. For once Peter was thankful he had a small pocket knife. He pulled out one of the blades and then froze. Was he really going to cut into Neal? Was he sure he was capable of doing this? As he debated whether or not he was capable of doing the job he saw the panic and fear in Neal's eyes, definitely noting a blue tinge around his lips. Either he did it or he let Neal die. Slipping the empty pen tube in his pocket to keep it clean, he felt along Neal's ribcage for a second time, finding the spot Jones said would be perfect. Without giving it a second thought he pressed the knife blade to the skin.

"Sorry," he felt the need to say as he made the cut.

From the expression on Neal's face he suspected Neal might have yelled out in pain if he had been able to. Quickly, blood oozing over his fingers, Peter took the pen tube from his pocket and slipped it into the cut.

_"Did you get a hiss of air?"_

"Uh, not exactly," Peter responded, his voice shaky. He watched as blood continued to flow out of the tube. He expected a bit of blood given what he had just done, but there seemed to be no end in sight, and he said as much to Jones.

_"Shit, sounds like a hemothorax,"_ Jones swore.

"And that would mean…"

_"He's bleeding into his chest cavity."_

"That doesn't sound good."

_"I'm going to hang-up and call for an ambulance. We should be there within a few minutes."_

As the connection was severed Peter felt as though he'd lost touch with the rest of the world. Neal lay on the ground before him, a pool of blood quickly forming where the tube drained out of his chest. He could not make out any difference in Neal's breathing, watching the shallow rise and fall of his friend's chest. The longer he watched the more he realized that something was wrong. Not really thinking how much it might hurt or that it might cause more damage, he began to feel for the broken rib. His heart sank as he found not one, but three broken ribs in a row. The area of his chest where the break was did not move the same as the rest of his chest.

With a little more prodding, Neal not in a position to complain, he realized the three ribs were broken on both sides making them free floating from the rest of the ribcage. He chewed on his bottom lip, afraid of what it might mean. Just how severe were Neal's wounds? He said he tried to dodge the tree branch, could it be that he took a direct blow to the chest? He did not even want to think of the extent of damage that could have been done, that may have been done.

He was pulled out of his thoughts by a tug on his shirt. Looking down he spotted Neal's hand clasping his shirt. The blood on his fingers mingled with the blood Peter had managed to get on his shirt. Peter took hold of Neal's hand, grasped it firmly. It scared him to feel how cool to the touch Neal was, the shade of his skin a sicken hue of blue-grey.

Neal's eye fluttered closed.

"Stay with me," Peter demanded. "You aren't going to get out of things this easily, Neal. Come on, open your eyes."

Peter looked over his shoulder hoping to see the glow of headlights. Where the hell were Jones and Cruz? What was taking them so damn long? For a few seconds he though he could make out the faint sound of sirens in the distance. Help on the way. Would it arrive in time or would they be too late? Looking back at Neal he noticed that his breathing had gotten worse. How the hell was that happening? Jones told him the chest tube was supposed to alleviate the problem, unless things were much worse than they original thought.

"Neal, come on buddy."

There was no response. He held tighter to Neal's hand, slightly disturbed that he could feel the erratic beat of his heart in the palm of his hand. The words of their argument played over in his mind. He hated to think it would be the last proper conversation they had, after all, there were so many things he often left unspoken, all the things he meant to say but never got around to actually voicing. For some reason he thought of Elizabeth, how would she take the news? Despite the best of his efforts she had grown fond of Neal, hell, she had grown to be somewhat buddy-buddy with Mozzie.

Mozzie.

If Neal died out here on the side of the street on the way back from an FBI case Mozzie would never let him hear the end of it. He closed his eyes, letting out a frustrating sigh.

Unsure of what to do he was on the verge of telling Neal how he felt; letting it all out in hopes it might spark some sort of response from Neal, who for all the world looked dead. Only the rasping sounds of his attempt to breathe let Peter know he was still alive. He opened his mouth to speak when the sound of tires on gravel drew his attention. Jones and Cruz had finally arrived. In seconds Jones was kneeling on the ground beside him, giving Neal a once over.

"He looks like shit," Jones said as he pointed out the obvious.

Peter was fighting his own headache to stay awake, to stay conscious to make sure Neal made it. "Where the hell is that ambulance?"

He blocked out the conversation Cruz was having, probably talking to their boss. Jones pulled out his own cellphone, dialing some number. Peter really wasn't paying too much attention. He was focused entirely on Neal. Up until this moment, this horrible event, he had not realized how much Neal meant to him, and it went beyond his help on the cases. He hated to think of life without Neal, found it hard to even imagine. He had spent countless months trying to find Neal, tracking the con-man, the only person to ever catch him. More than once. Their work relationship went beyond everything he expected, quickly turned into a friendship.

They fought often with trusting each other on certain topics, and yet, though they continued to grow closer they somehow managed to maintain privacy. There were a lot of things about Neal he still did not know. For one thing, he had never been able to clearly identify Mozzie. And there were things in his past he kept from Neal, things he felt comfortable sharing with his wife and his wife only. Now, though, he wished he had time to share more. There were so many things he wanted to do, so many things he wished to express to Neal.

"Neal…"

"Peter."

Hearing his name pass through Neal's lips made his heart flutter, brought a faint smile to his face. When he looked down he saw that Neal had finally gotten around to opening his eyes. He was happy to see those sparkling baby blues, never realized how much he enjoyed the sight of them. They twinkled faintly with the charm Neal used like a weapon. That damn charm that always got the best of everyone. Him included.

"Hey, there is my favorite conman," he joked, feeling a bit of relief.

"You…didn't…" Neal was having trouble getting the words out. "…think I was….going…to let you off…that easy…."

Peter actually laughed, ignoring the spike of pain that drove through his head. "Of course not."

Neal squeezed his hand as the ambulance drew within range, the sirens a most wonderful sound in the night. And before he knew it he was being pushed away, steadied on his feet by Jones as the paramedics went to work on Neal. Everything moved in a flurry making it hard for him to completely understand what was going on. He thought he may have heard one of the EMTs say something about cardiac arrest, he could not be entirely sure. The fringe of his vision started to grow black, he felt a bit faint. He began to feel bad, nausea twisting his stomach. But he fought to stay as he watched the paramedics load Neal into the back of the ambulance.

He heard the doors slam.

Watched as the emergency vehicle pulled away into the dark.

Thought he might have heard Jones say something off to his left.

And then the darkness finally managed to get a grip on him, drawing him down into unconsciousness with the relief of knowing he helped save Neal.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author Note: For those interested I have posted the link to my original slash (male/male) short story now available for purchase. =)**

* * *

When Peter came to the first thing he saw was Elizabeth sitting at his bedside. Her hair was a bit of a mess suggesting she might have spent some uncomfortable hours in the hospital provided chair and her nose was currently buried in a cooking magazine. He blinked back the bright light of the room trying to remember what happened, knowing from the annoying beeps that he was certainly in the hospital. The pain was a good indicator as well. And then it all came rushing back to him.

Perhaps he groaned or made some other minor noise because Elizabeth looked up from her magazine; which quickly became an afterthought once she saw him awake.

She stood at the side of his bed, wrapping her fingers with his and smiling softly. "Hey, look who finally decided to wake up. How are you feeling?"

"Like I was in a car accident."

"Nice to see your sense of humor remains intact."

She helped to get him in a seated position. For a moment or two the vice on his head tightened, then eased. "How bad is it?"

"Concussion. They think you hit your head on the steering wheel," she explained. "It was a matter of keeping you over night since you last consciousness. They just wanted to err on the side of caution. I've also seen pictures of the car and am thankful," she shuddered. "Jones was talking about it being totaled. I always worried about losing you to a bullet or something, but now apparently I should start worrying about your ability to drive."

Peter appreciated her attempts of lightening the mood, but there was a burning question on the tip of his tongue, one she must have known was coming and wanted to avoid. "Neal, how is Neal?" He saw clearly in his mind the blood on his friend's chest, the panic in those blue eyes. "He's okay, right?"

Elizabeth lowered her gaze, running her thumb in tight little circles on the back of his hand.

"El, please…"

Did he see tears?

"Neal…" she choked up.

Peter felt a stab of pain. Could it be that his efforts to save Neal failed after all? What would it be like to return to work without the con-man at his side? Would he even be able to do it? After all this time he considered Neal a part of the team. He knew that Jones and Diana felt the same way. Neal had worked his way into their hearts with his charm, the same charm he used to con people, but what did that matter at a time like this? And Mozzie, oh poor Mozzie.

Wait.

Peter frowned.

If Neal had died he would have expected Mozzie to be the one waiting for him when he woke-up, the mysterious know-it-all ready to give him hell for getting his best friend killed.

"How bad is it?"

She swallowed down her sorrow. "In critical condition. He lost a lot of blood and they had to revive him twice. His system took quite a blow, sweetheart, but the doctor says what you did out there on the side of the road gave them precious minutes," she looked him in the eye. "Your efforts helped to save his life."

Peter was starting to feel tired, no doubt the effect of whatever medication they had him on. His body ached in so many places, he could only imagine the number of bruises and they pretty shades they temporarily tattooed on his skin. He put up little fight against the desire to sleep knowing now that his friend was okay, but still, one question bugged him to be asked. "If I saved his life," his voice having fallen to a whisper and prompting Elizabeth to lean forward, "why is he critical?"

"Standard hospital procedure for some who just had risky surgery," she explained, running a hand along his cheek and up through his hair. She planted her soft lips against his forehead momentarily. "Baring any sort of infection he'll be moved in a day or two." Her next kiss brought their lips together. "You're my hero," she whispered as he drifted off.

* * *

When next he came to the room was dark save for the soft glow of a night light. Elizabeth was gone; which he found made him feel better. He rather she be at home in bed, perhaps Satchmo curled up at her side, getting a decent nights rest. It was better than spending her time in the hospital fretting. He just wished that he could be there with them both.

Trying to figure out what it was that work he realized it was the dire need to relieve his bladder. In the hospital or not, he saw no reason why he couldn't walk over to the bathroom under his own power, after all, he suffered a little head trauma, nothing terribly major. Not like Neal. He tried not to think about his friend as he tossed aside the slightly itchy hospital blanket, only to be horrified at the sight of the hospital gown. He loathed the things. The need to pee grew. Putting everything else out of his mind he swung his legs over the side of the bed, grimacing at the pain in his chest. Pealing back the collar of the gown revealed an ugly bruise where the seatbelt did its job.

Then he got to his feet.

And the room swayed enough that he perched on the edge of the bed. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and reopened them. Everything remained in its proper place. A dull throb began behind his eyes as he began the journey to the bathroom. He took slow steps, one hand on the wall in case another dizzy spell should sweep over him. The bathroom was a tiny cramped little area, but he didn't care, closing the door and going about his business.

A short time later he felt immensely better, moving in front of the sink to wash his hands. He even splashed a bit of the cold water on his face. There was a white bandage wrapped around his head. Curious, he pulled up the edge to reveal the cut he knew would be concealed beneath. It was surrounded by an ugly bruise, matching some he had found on his legs. That was definitely the last time he wanted to get into a car accident. Moving with a bit more ease he left the tiny bathroom and looked around the room. He knew the doctor would give him an earful and no doubt send him back to bed, but that was absolutely the last place he wanted to be. He was horrible when it came to taking time off, especially when there was something more important to be seen to.

Peter wanted to search out Neal, see with his own two eyes that his friend was going to live. It's not that he thought his wife was lying, not in the least, he just wanted to be doubly sure.

Poking around the room he was able to find his clothes neatly tucked away in a cabinet. Of course, his ID and gun were missing, no doubt waiting for him in the safe at home. They certainly wouldn't want a gun in the hospital. With a bit of work Peter managed to get into his pants, happy to have something to cover his rear. He saw no reason to flash the entire hospital his underwear. What he wore under his clothing was none of their business. Great relief followed the complete removal of the hospital gown; which he tossed on the bed. Bare chested he got a great view of the bruise crossing his chest, a perfect tattoo by the seatbelt. At least the darned thing had done its job, for that he would be grateful.

Slipping on his shirt proved to be a bit harder than his pants. There was a great deal of pain when he raised his arms over his head. He grimaced, but worked through it. Had he been wearing his usual button down it wouldn't have been an issue, but he had opted for a polo, wanting to look a bit more relaxed. Though a lot of good it did since everything about the case went south. Sock and shoes in hand he sat on the edge of the bed. Getting them on proved to be a challenge. Every time he bent forward and brought his foot up he felt ever single muscle in his back. He wondered if this was what it felt like to have whiplash. A task that should have taken him less than five minutes wound up lasting fifteen, if the clock on the wall was any indication.

Dressed and feeling somewhat more human he moved toward the door, pulling it back to have a peek at the hallway. Nightlights illuminated the span of tile and bland white walls. Definitely passed visiting hours. How was he going to find Neal, he wondered as he stepped into the hall, and how was he going to explain himself if he should happen to run across a nurse or doctor? Passing by a trashcan he removed the bandage from his head and tossed it in. Too bad it wasn't so easy to remove the bracelet around his wrist.

Peter tried to walk with purpose and like he did not hurt in a million different places. The dull throb in the back of his skull seemed to grow worse the more time he spent on his feet. But he was a man on a mission. He needed to see Neal.

Following the signs he managed to work his way to Critical Care, but stopped just before rounding the corner. There were two nurses manning the station outside the rooms. Somehow he had to get by them. If only he possessed the charm of his friend. He imagined Neal strolling up to the two ladies, fedora in hand, those blue eyes locking on, flashing that trademark smile, and he would cook up some story to buy their sympathies and let him in. Over the years he picked up one or two things from Neal, but he certainly wasn't capable of conducting such a con.

Then again…

An idea popped into his mind as his eyes settled on the gold ring on his finger.

"Sorry, El," he whispered under his breath.

Peter sucked in a breath, squared his shoulders, and sent up a silent pray that what he was about to do would work, then he stepped into the hallway. He was nearly upon the nurses' station before they noticed him. How the hell did Neal do it, he wondered, trying to fight down the nervous flutter in his stomach. He wasn't sure if the desire to throw-up came from his nerves or the worsening headache.

He approached the desk doing his best to look forlorn. He was going for the lost puppy dog approach and hopefully pulling it off. The pounding in his head made it easier, he had to admit. The nurses looked up at the sight of him, their conversation dying as he drew within range. One of them reached for the phone no doubt getting ready to call for security.

"Please," Peter said, offering them a pitiful smile, "I just want to see someone."

"Visiting hours are over," the older nurse said, narrowing her eyes.

Peter rubbed the back of his neck, eyes a bit downcast. "I know…it's just…" He had what he thought to be a convincing lie, but could he actually do it? "Um…I was in car accident, you see, and my boyfriend was with me and he's here in intensive care. I know I should be in bed taking it easy, but I really wanted to see him and…"

And there it was, he had just fibbed to the nurses. He could only imagine what Elizabeth would have to say when she found out. At first she would certainly be angry with him for getting out of bed. Then he knew she would understand his desire to see Neal. Knowing her, she'd laugh at his story. At the moment all that really mattered was whether or not the nurses believed him.

The younger one settled the phone back in its cradle. "Maybe we can make an exception in his case."

"You do it for one; you have to do it for others."

"What others? There's nobody else here. No one is going to see."

The older nurse chewed on her bottom lip, thinking it over.

"Please," Peter pleaded.

Finally the older nurse sighed. "All right, but only for a few minutes," she stressed. "Then one of us is going to escort you back to your room. Understood?"

"Of course," he nodded. Bad idea. The nurse was talking, her lips moving, but Peter could not make out what she was saying. The edges of his vision began to blur and turn black. Feeling unsteady on his feet he held a little tighter to the counter not wanting to take a nasty tumble to the floor, especially not when he was so close to seeing Neal.

And the moment passed.

"Are you okay?" the younger nurse asked, a look of concern on her face.

Peter realized he must have been asked a question or something and failed to respond. "Yeah, just a little dizzy."

"Oh…"

"I'll be fine. Already feeling better," he was quick reassure.

"Well…okay. What is your boyfriend's name?"

"Neal Caffery," he replied, the name slipping out. Then he second guessed himself; what if he wasn't in as Neal? The man had so many aliases. Peter wasn't even 100% sure Neal was his real name. the young nurse hit a few keys.

Her older companion, the name tag on her uniform identifying her as Maude, stepped around the counter. "Follow me," she said heading off down the hallway. Peter fought to remain on his feet as he followed. A few minutes later she stopped before a door. "You can have five minutes. No longer. I could get in a lot of trouble for this."

"Thank you. I really appreciate it."

"I'll wait out here so you can have some privacy."

Peter braced for what lay ahead and entered the room. there was the soft glow of the night lights and the steady hum of machinery. The first thing he noticed was the lack of respirator. The fact Neal was breathing on his own was a relief. At bedside he saw that Neal was still being fed oxygen. There were so many wires he began to worry he might unplug something vital. With minutes ticking by he took hold of Neal's hand. He wasn't entirely sure what he should say so he just started speaking.

"Who knew that when your file landed on my desk you would wind up being such a big part of my life? After everything you and I have been through…" Peter got choked up, clasping Neal's hand firmly between his, bowing his head. He ignored the pain. A tear slipped free. "You can't leave, Neal. Think about Mozzie and Elizabeth and Jones ad Diana. Think…" The edges of his vision blurred and he swayed on his feet. "Don't leave me, Neal, please…don't go…"

There was an intense jolt of pain followed by a wave of sickness. Peter tried to call out but the darkness claimed him swiftly and he fell to the floor.

* * *

When next Peter awoke he was once again in his hospital bed with an angry Elizabeth glaring down at him. The first thing he did was a quick assessment of his condition, if he felt decent enough he wanted to order a discharge. The hospital could not keep him if he did not want to stay. He needed to be doing something; maybe looking for the drunken fool that sent them careening off the road. Hell, he was more than willing to spend days sitting at Neal's bedside if it meant he would eventually walk out of the place, too.

"I can understand your motivation, sweetheart," Elizabeth was speaking, snapping him from his thoughts. "But it was foolish. You could have hurt yourself. And those poor nurses, I think you owe them an apology. You gave them a pretty good scare. From what I understand they had to use a security guard to get you back to your room. They could have gotten in a lot of trouble, Peter."

"I know," he said, his voice low. "I had to see him…"

Instantly she softened, settling on the edge of his bed, a hand on his chest. "Hurting yourself won't help Neal. You should consider yourself lucky. When you fell you hit your head on the tile floor. It doesn't seem to have done any further harm, but there's no telling what could have happened…"

He took hold of her hand and brought it to his lips for a quick kiss. "I'm sorry."

"How did you manage to convince them to let you in anyway? It was well after visiting hours."

"I…"

As he was attempting to find a way to deliver his lie there was a soft knock at the door. A second later it opened to admit Jones and, much to Peter's surprise, Mozzie. Just as he began to wonder what had become of Diana she swept in behind them with a vase of flowers under one arm and a balloon clasped firmly in her hand. It was then that he noticed Jones carried a card and Mozzie a bottle of some sort of alcohol; knowing Mozzie it would be a fine wine.

"You guys will just have to wait a second," Elizabeth addressed them. "My wonderful husband was just going to tell me how he managed to get in to see Neal last night."

"There's no point in boring them with that," he suggested, not wanting to say in front of all of them. Elizabeth would be amused, but he wasn't entirely sure how the others would take it.

"Oh, do tell," Jones pushed. "If it matters any none of us were surprised."

"There's no getting out of this, is there?"

"Nope," the group chorused, aside from Mozzie, who seemed oddly quiet and perhaps even uncomfortable. In that moment Peter wanted to speak with him privately. He could only imagine the pain Mozzie must be feeling. Did he have anyone to turn to when he needed a shoulder to cry on, someone other than Neal? That was enough to send him down a familiar road. More often than he cared to admit he found himself wondering just what the relationship was between Mozzie and Neal. Did it stop at friendship or go beyond? Sure, he saw Neal with Sara and he pined for Kate for so long, but in the long run he was always turning to Mozzie. And Mozzie, well, the little guy never seemed to have a romantic connection to anyone.

Expect for maybe Elizabeth.

Would his lie cause trouble?

"Come on, out with it," Elizabeth playfully slapped his shoulder.

There was no escaping. "I told them I was his boyfriend."

For a moment there was stunned silence, then Jones started laughing. Diana and Elizabeth weren't too far behind. As he expected Mozzie was quiet, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. Peter lay there while the others made jokes and amused themselves. All he wanted was to get a few minutes alone with Mozzie. The two of them never really saw eye-to-eye. He was always Mr. Suit and he knew that Mozzie wasn't especially keen on the idea of Neal working with the FBI. He didn't want this to be yet another incident that widen the gap between them. It was evident he wanted Neal to remain in his life and that meant Mozzie came as part of the package. Tension between them would only cause Neal stress.

After a few suggestive glances on his part he seemed to get his point across to Elizabeth. Ever the lovely wife she rounded up the others and began to usher them out the door. before they could leave, however, Peter spoke up. "Mozzie, if I may have a word with you…"

It almost looked like Mozzie was going to leave, frozen by indecision in the door. Elizabeth gave him a kiss on the cheek, whispered something in his ear, and gave him a gentle push toward the bed.

Peter waited until the door closed. "I'm sorry."

"For?"

"I think you know exactly what for," he replied. "Look, I love Elizabeth. She's the only one for me, Mozzie. Now and forever. My little white lie wasn't meant to hurt anyone. I merely wanted to gain access to Neal's room and it was the only thing I could come up with."

"You've obvious learned little from Neal."

Peter chuckled. "So it would seem."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Because I don't want you to be mad."

Mozzie fiddled with his glasses. "I'm not mad…I mean, I was, but not anymore. I can no more control Neal than you can. He will always make his own choices."

A moment of silence passed.

"I'm sorry about the accident."

For the first time since he'd known him Mozzie seemed at a loss for words. He was usually ready with a quick reference or witty retort. Coming so close to losing Neal…

"Are we okay?" Peter wanted to know.

Mozzie looked at him for a few minutes. "As good as we're every going to be, Mr. Suit."

* * *

Peter dozed off and on for the rest of the day. At one point he recalled Elizabeth standing by his bed and saying something about him discharged later in the day. He was tired, exhausted. The case he'd been working with Neal had taken a lot of energy and to end the way it did, well, he welcomed the right to just lay around and do nothing. Every minute he spent sleeping he dreamt of Neal, the crimes they worked together, crazy little moments that were complete works of fiction.

Sometime in the middle of the afternoon he woke to a gentle shaking.

Elizabeth.

"Hey, sleepy head," she smiled softly. "You ready to go home?"

"Sure," he mumbled, liking the idea of his own bed and seeing Satchmo.

She had already gathered his things and packed them neatly in a bag. "Come on, let's get you dressed."

This time around it was much easier to get his clothes on, his muscles not nearly as sore. And the room stayed relatively still. When she presented him with a wheelchair outside the room he drew up short.

"Hospital policy, apparently," she told him.

Had he more energy he might have argued, instead he fell into the chair, bag on his lap. Elizabeth began pushing him along the halls. They passed doctors and nurses, patients and visitors. It took Peter a couple of minutes to realize they weren't heading for the door. The path seemed oddly familiar, as though he had taken it before.

"Where are we going?"

"Neal woke up earlier today," she explained. "He requested you."

Peter's heart jumped. All of a sudden he was nervous. Why? He had a close relationship with Neal. They were friends. Family. There was no reason for him to be feeling this way. Then again, given their last conversation…He wasn't entirely sure what he was going to say. At one point they should have taken a left, instead El kept going. Neal had been moved, now expected to make a full recovery and therefore no longer in need of the critical care unit. When they reached his new room Peter had Elizabeth stop at the door. He got to his feet, putting the bag in his seat, and stood before the door.

He gave a soft knock before entering the room. Upon entering the room Neal, who was sitting up, a newspaper across his lap, looked in his direction. Evidence of Mozzie was present in the room, mostly by the empty bottle in the trashcan. Peter now understood that Mozzie had to sneak the alcohol in or perhaps he bribed someone with his conman charms. At the sight of his friend, those eyes sparkling, Peter realized he had no idea what to say.

"Going home?" Neal spoke up first.

"Yeah."

"I hear you saved my life with a pen."

Peter smiled. "Pretty much."

"Thank you."

Was that the heat of a blush he felt? Since when did he blush? "I can't let you die on me yet, Neal, you're too useful. Plus, I can only imagine the horror Mozzie would rain down on my life."

"He can be pretty crafty."

"So I've learned."

Neal neatly folded the paper. "You know, there is one thing I do want to know…"

"Oh?"

There was an amused twinkle in his eye. Someone told him. "Do I get to sleep on the left side of the bed or the right?"


End file.
